


Live to Rise

by Madam_Red



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:53:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_Red/pseuds/Madam_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost ironic, was it, that Elros had sought the rest of death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live to Rise

**Author's Note:**

> What if all you understand,  
> Could fit into the center of our hand?  
> Then you found it wasn’t you,  
> Who held the sum of everything you knew?  
> Also posted at http://estelheirofisildur.tumblr.com

He was a torrent of power upon the field. Like a wave of the ocean. He slammed against the sand of the field, weaving and dicing with twin blades coated in black and red.

He was untouchable. 

He was balanced. 

He was rage embodied in a burst of flame that left a scorch mark of fallen bodies in his wake. His own blood and sweet filled the air, mingling with the salty gore of enemy entrails. Yet he did not hesitate, nor falter. He was a perfect reflection of humanity. Imperfect in all the ways that mattered; and the wild side of him was a ferocity that no other could touch.

He did not need the grace of an Elven speed, for his blood had long since forsaken it. He did not need the power of Elven magic, for, no magic could tame the wild length of his stained blades. Those silver eyes alight with a raging flame that threatened to never yield in the dark.

He fought like he would live for tomorrow, and, yet he lived like he would die today.

…and when he died, it was at the young age of 500. Still those eyes blazed with the light of his soul; while even his heart shuddered away within his chest and died. That soul burned like the star of father in the sky above. They say his face set itself into an expression of peace; and upon him you could see all the grace of his youth, the wisdom of his age, and the flame of his humanity.

He rose again, every so many hundred years, that deadly flame of humanity bleeding down into the hands of his descendants.

They saw him in their eyes. Those who had known him best once upon a time.

Like the sun he lived to rise again within the sons of his sons. Like he was cursed to rebirth within the hearts of his children to save a world his line had doomed. 

Death would always take him. They were intricately woven together. But life would always give him back. A gleam of that imperfect fire burning within silver eyes.

Almost ironic, was it, that Elros had sought the rest of death.

…and that he only managed to continue to live.


End file.
